How a hospital gown becomes
a funeral dress, how a plastic ID
bracelet becomes a handcuff,
how the outside becomes a fantasy.
Hush the crazy. I am remembering
I am. I am so not okay with I-am-ness.
Existence seems meaningless.
Strength into burden.
Call this an episode, I call this losing.
How the hallways become caskets, how
visiting hours become the tease,
how discharge papers become
the only sigh of relief.
How the doctor’s advice becomes
a death date, how getting better
becomes giving up, how this
fishbowl life becomes
a form of medicine.
Five days spent inside and it feels as if
I am only meant to be an aquarium.
By Kate Foley
Kate Foley is a poet based in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Her work has been featured in Voicemail Poems, The Legendary, Words Dance, and more. The Bird Hours, her debut collection, was published by Where Are You Press in May 2017. She is passionate about dogs, helping others, and healing.